


The Flaming Sword

by static_abyss



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Relationship, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27409768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: Crowley wouldn't say he and Aziraphale were lovers per se. But they weren'tnotlovers in the same way that tomato paste isn't technically not a smoothie. Which is to say, that by certain definitions, they were.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28
Collections: Fic In A Box





	The Flaming Sword

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bittercape (bittercape)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittercape/gifts).



> Thanks to the mods for all the help and for being great during this exchange. I had a lot of fun participating and also writing this fic.
> 
> Also, the pre/post relationship tags are both included because, well, Aziraphale and Crowley were not lovers but also they were and also they might still be?

Crowley wouldn't say that he and Aziraphale were lovers. 

It was a much simpler time, back in the day, inside the white gates of heaven, where to follow the rules was to be divine and pure. They weren't lovers per se but they weren't _not_ lovers in the same way that tomato paste isn't technically not a smoothie. Which is to say, that by certain definitions, they were. 

But in those early days, when Earth was still more of a side note than an idea, Crowley had been helplessly following along, chuffed that someone as important and as beautiful as Aziraphale was paying attention to him. They weren't lovers in the sense that humans now consider each other lovers. There was no burst of starfire or that laughable passion that often gripped the poets in the early days of Earth. Crowley didn't actually faint from the vapours of an impassioned dalliance. Or quote poetic about how he could see the stars in Aziraphale's blue, blue eyes. 

They were quite boring, for all intents and purposes. 

Until the damn principality. 

Aziraphale was Crowley's equal before then, and after, Aziraphale was a leader with thousands of angels asking for his attention. Crowley faded into the background and though Crowley's not one to fuss— he's done so exactly once and he didn't care for it— it was quite off-putting. What it came down to was that Crowley found it really rather awkward being friends with his boss. That, and there was something a little heartbreaking about watching Aziraphale turn into something larger and brighter than anything Crowley had ever seen. He was light and goodness and that sort of naïveté that had gotten him that promotion in the first place: blind trust in the going-ons of heaven. 

And because Aziraphale had been Crolwey's not-lover and suddenly wasn't, Crowley found himself with lots of extra time and nothing to do but think. Which, as Crowley knows, is the worst thing an angel can do. 

-

It took exactly fifteen years, eight months, fourteen days, two hours, forty-nine minutes, and twenty-four seconds for Crowley's first question. Or two hundred and sixty-seven human years, which was roughly the amount of time it took for Aziraphale to get his promotion. But Crowley wasn't counting. 

He wasn't.

He swears.

He really wasn't counting.

As it was, approximately fifteen heaven years after Aziraphale's promotion, Crowley was hanging around with a group of other tossed-aside angels. The types with feathers that didn't sit quite right and whose angelic light was just a lumen or so off. Other heartbroken, lonely ex-not-lovers to principalities, who had nothing better to do than think about asking questions all day. All of them just pathetically waiting to see if their principalities would ever remember them. It was quite sad if Crowley's being honest. But at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do and so, because Crowley had nothing better to do on the day that Aziraphale went on his first mission, it happened.

He was sitting, staring at the light of heaven, when he felt the first stirrings of curiosity. Sort of reminded him of an upset stomach if Crowley remembers correctly. The feeling was new and Crowley, who hadn't had anything to look forward to for a while, went with it. Curiosity had led to thinking, which had led to questioning, which had eventually led to Crowley getting tossed out of heaven. But such is the way these things go. 

The question itself had been of the more innocuous sort and something Crowley felt hadn't merited the punishment he got. In fact, given the chance now, he'd make sure that his first act of rebellion was worth it. 

_Make it count when one can_ , Crowley thinks. 

As it stands, the first question Crowley asked was, "how many boots does an angel have to lick to get a smoke around here?"

The answer, incidentally, is three.

Not that Crowley ever had the time to confirm the number. He didn't and doesn't smoke but he'd been curious. Which, he now knows, does not sit well with heaven's Head Office. Suffice to say, it'd only taken one large group meeting with the higher-ups, a large chocolate fountain—used for decoration and not consumption—twelve forms, and fifteen addendums to get Crowley demoted. It would have been fine except that God had finally outlined Her Earth project and, in what Crowley can only describe as a fit of spring cleaning, had decided to do an overhaul of heaven. 

"To get rid of the imperfections, you understand," Gabriel told Crowley, staring pointedly at the way Crowley's wings didn't sit quite right. 

"Well, now that's a bit vain, isn't it?" Crowley asked.

Which was not only another question but also a direct challenge of the Almighty and, therefore, extra frowned upon. But Crowley supposes, not-break-ups do crazy things to a person's self-control. Which brings Crowley to his current situation. 

Aziraphale and his flaming sword. 

Contrary to popular belief, Crowley didn't spend his first millennium in hell wallowing in self-pity and wishing he could talk to Aziraphale before being unceremoniously kicked out of heaven. He wasn't bitter. He really wasn't. It wasn't like he ever expected to understand whatever Greater Plan the Almighty had in motion. Crowley and all the other angels were only ever meant to follow instructions like good little soldiers. Except, there was nothing to fight before hell and now suddenly there was, and Crowley was one of the things angels were supposed to fight. And Aziraphale was an angel and also his not-lover and life suddenly became much more complicated. 

Then there's the damn flaming sword.

-

From what Crowley understands as he fills out the same form for the seventh time, the Almighty finally finished Her Earth Project. There's a lot of boasting from above, lots of talk of the Earth being the greatest thing to have ever been crafted, one-of-a-kind, wonderful, wow, and all that other load of tosh. 

"Clearly an exaggeration," the demon at the front desk tells Crowley. "Also, you've filled out the wrong form."

The demon hands Crowley another form and when Crowley looks down at it, he sees it's the same form he's been filling out for the last half-hour. He sighs and picks up his pen, resigned to another good hour of form-filling before someone gets bored and calls him into one office or another. 

"I heard there was something called _hoomans_ on Earth," the demon says, leaning forward on the desk.

Crowley, who's given up filling in the form and has started drawing little swirls on the margins instead, looks up. He sees the front desk demon practically vibrating with malicious glee. 

"What?" Crowley asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Did you hear who they sent to protect the _hoomans_ on Earth?"

Crowley had not, but as he looks at the amusement on the demon's face, he suspects that he's not going to enjoy hearing it spelt out for him.

"It's your boyfriend," the front desk demon sneers. "That pudgy little principality. Aziraphale."

"He's not my boyfriend," Crowley says, trying to figure out exactly what he's feeling in the pit of his stomach.

There's a faint stirring of something familiar. Not quite fear but anticipation, perhaps. It has been a long time, after all.

"I heard he's got a flaming sword," the front desk demon says, complete with suggestive eyebrows. 

And it isn't as though Crowley's been waiting for his first assignment with bated breath on the off-chance that he might run into Aziraphale. It's been almost two millennia since the last time they saw each other and now they're both morally obligated to fight each other. They're enemies, soldiers for different sides, good and bad—though Crowley still has questions regarding those particular definitions. There's no guarantee that Aziraphale even remembers Crowley, his not-lover. 

But still, Crowley can't help himself as he looks up from his form and says, "A flaming sword? Really?"

It's not difficult to make Dagon think it's their idea to give Crowley the Earth assignment. Crowley goes into Dagon's office after he's filled out his tenth form and makes a show of not wanting the Earth assignment. And just like that, the assignment is his. 

It really is rather sad how easy it is to manipulate one of hell's finest. But Crowley has better things to do than overhaul hell's crumbling hierarchy. 

There's one problem on Earth that Crowley didn't anticipate and that is that the Earth really is a masterpiece. It's a floating rock in one solar system of one galaxy, stupidly insignificant compared to the vastness of space and time. It sits there, blue and green, surrounded by other floating rocks, and just exists. Defiantly and against all odds, the Earth exists. That alone is enough to give Crowley pause. 

And then, he steps onto its surface.

If he thought seeing the Earth from the outside was impressive, it's nothing compared to having a body and feeling hot sand under his bare feet. His body alone is magnificent, with its network of veins and arteries, the ridiculousness of the human skeleton, and the laughably breakable meat suit that protects everything. He sees colours and shapes through human eyes for the first time and it catches him off-guard. He has no name for the condensed brightness, how everything is more vibrant and alive. There's nothing quite like human eyes and human noses, the concentrated smells that feel like lead against Crowley's human nose. 

There's heat and rain and air and his body reacting to the change in temperature. There's night and day and his human eyes adjusting to that too, to the far off sounds of other animals and the deafening silence outside of the Garden of Eden. There's nothing on Earth. No heaven. No hell. Just Crowley and his human body and his demon wings and that heavy, heartbreaking curiosity that has never left him.

On top of all that, not too far off, is that faint awareness of something angelic and good. So it is, that in the darkness of his first Earth night, Crowley finally finds the light. 

-

He sees Aziraphale before Aziraphale sees him and it's just as horrible as he expected. Worse even, given that Crowley is human, or at least partially human, since Crowley has a body and functioning organs. Horrible because humans carry unwanted emotions in their bodies, involuntary reactions to moments of high stress. All rather simplistic, if Crowley is honest, though he never is these days. Still, he hates the way his very real heart starts beating loudly in his chest and the way his palms start to sweat. There's a lot going on in the center of his human body and not much happening to keep himself in control.

One moment, he's fighting to keep himself in check and the next, he's moved closer to Aziraphale, glorious, beautiful, vibrant Aziraphale. He looks good, the three millennia since they've seen each other only adding to that grace that he carries, that sort of eagerness to please that charmed Crowley back in their heaven days. Aziraphale is wearing a white robe and holding a flaming sword loosely at his side. From Crowley's spot under a large fruit tree, he can see Aziraphale's worried frown and the way he keeps taping his sword against his leg, unaware that he's burning through the angelic fabric. 

Crowley inhales for the first time in his life and then exhales, a sort of harsher puff of breath. Definitely not a sigh. Not even close. 

But here's the thing. 

Crowley and Aziraphale aren't _not_ lovers. They were a complicated mess of angelic goodness that existed in the larger pot of goodness that was heaven. They were tomato paste, a smoothie but also not. Which makes it difficult for Crowley to explain exactly why he does what he does. Though, if pressed, Crowley might say he did it out of self-preservation.

See, as Crowley stands next to the fruit tree and watches Aziraphale, obviously favoured by heaven, clean and whole, it occurs to Crowley that perhaps he's angry. He tells himself that the reason for his sweaty palms and his thundering heart is a vast sense of unfairness that's lived in his chest since he got kicked out of heaven. Because it wasn't just Crowley who had thought about questioning, and it wasn't just Crowley who had an ex-not-lover. But it was just Crowley who'd gotten the boot. So he feels justified in his anger as he goes to have a talk with Eve and, just for the heck of it, he turns into a snake. 

Maybe he also does it because snakes don't have sweaty palms or thundering heartbeats. Or that infuriating tendency to dilate blood vessels at the most inopportune times.

-

It turns out to be surprisingly easy to convince Eve to take a bite of the apple from the Tree of Knowledge. The tree is helpfully labeled with an arrow pointing to the fruit and a small sign at the front that says, "Do NOT eat." The "not" is written in flashing neon colours and carries a distinct air of the forbidden, which goes very nicely with Crowley's temptation.

"Go on," he tells Eve. "Have a go."

Eve, bless her soul, is hungry and pregnant and also human. 

She takes the apple. 

-

"You didn't have to do that," Aziraphale says, later.

If it weren't for the fact that Crowley's been waiting at least a good five millennia for this exact conversation, he might feel a little remorse. Except, it's been exactly seven millennia since he last saw Aziraphale and Crowley's feeling a little put-out that he doesn't even rate a "hello," or a "how do you do," or even an "oh, it's you."

"I'm a demon," he says, perhaps a little petulantly. "It's what I do."

Aziraphale says nothing as he turns to watch Adam and Eve off in the distance. Crowley can't take his eyes away from Aziraphale, from the slope of his shoulders and the pure vibrant light radiating from him. His wings were always perfectly in place and they're the same now. All of him so put-together and whole. He was always meant for great things, much larger and better than Crowley was ever meant to be. 

But before Crowley can truly indulge his self-pity, his eyes catch on Aziraphale's right hand. His very empty, very-clearly-not-holding-a-flaming-sword hand. 

"Hang on," Crowley says. 

He turns to look out into the vast expanse of desert, the heat flowing over to them as they stand at the top of the wall protecting the Garden of Eden. He can just make out Adam in the distance and in his right hand, Adam holds Aziraphale's flaming sword. 

"Well, well, well," Crowley says.

Aziraphale turns to him, his big blue eyes boring into Crowley, his face anxious as he waves his hands out into the desert. "She's pregnant," he says. "And there are animals out there. I couldn't let them go out without protection, now could I?"

Crowley's grin is slow. "Disobeying orders, are we?"

There's something like panic on Aziraphale's face as he says, "No, no no, that's not...I mean I wouldn't...I'm not a...a...a—"

"—a demon," Crowley says, and he finds that he's no longer angry. 

Aziraphale's face goes a pretty tinge of red and he looks down at his feet. "That's not," he starts.

Crowley shrugs. "You're right," he says. "I'm a demon, disobeying is our thing. But you're an angel. I reckon your kind couldn't disobey an order even if you wanted to." 

"Oh," Aziraphale says, turning hopeful eyes on Crowley. "Do you really think so?"

Crowley can feel the old stirring of interest unfurling in his chest as he looks at Aziraphale, something like curiosity or perhaps an upset stomach. He thinks of the flaming sword and Aziraphale giving it away, about how this is so close to disobeying, Crowley can practically taste it. It's almost enough to keep him going for another nine millennia and then Aziraphale says, "You don't think the Almighty will be very upset that I didn't tell Her where exactly I put my flaming sword, do you?"

And oh, Crowley's going to have so much fun on Earth.


End file.
